


Learning to Ask

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: Fatherhood [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, Bonding, Dad - Freeform, Dick taking care of Bruce, Fatherhood, Fluff, Gen, Sappy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, daddy bats, hopelessly sappy, son - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Bruce isn't used to asking for help. It doesn't mean he can't, he just prefers not to. His oldest doesn't seem to agree. So Bruce let's Dick take care of him after a botched patrol and waits for the lecture he's sure is coming.





	

Shouts and crackles of gunfire dragged Bruce’s attention from mobster to mobster, his mind reeling as it calculated his next action, and the four he’d perform after that. The reality that this fight was one he’d probably lose was lost on him. He was outnumbered in both man and firepower, but that didn’t stop him from formulating a plan.

Somewhere beside him a plate clattered and cracked, the ceramic shattering with a crash against the ground. Bruce’s eyes flew open as he shot up in bed. He gasped and fell back against his pillows as a searing pain raced across his chest.

Muttered cursing came from the side of his bed, before Dick straightened from a crouch, his apologetic look contrasting the frustrated words still streaming from him as he fumbled with broken tableware.

“Sorry, Bruce. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Dick said after catching a large shard of blue plate that kept slipping from the crook of his arm where he’d tucked the shattered remains of the dish. “I was trying to clean up and well--” Dick shrugged. “I seem to be all thumbs today.”

Bruce realized then, that the shards of the plate were clean of all but a few streaks of leftover sauce. His eyes caught sight of the silver cover over a second tray, protecting the still warm and unshattered contents within. Why had Dick been eating in his room? Why had he been in his room in the first place?

He tried to sit up again, but the pain in his chest reminded him why he was not already sitting up so he gave up the endeavor. By his estimation, the pain was caused by two, maybe three broken ribs. Dick seemed to pick up on his self-evaluation and filled in the gaps for him.

“You broke two ribs, and fractured a third.” Dick explained as he carried the shattered pieces to the trash bin in Bruce’s room and let them clatter in.

“Hn.” Bruce said. “What are you doing here?”

His son glanced back and grinned at him. “Alfie didn’t give you that much pain medication.”

Medicine would account for the foggy feeling in his head, and his delay in remembering what had happened. Had his dream just been a dream? No, it hadn’t. He’d been fighting on patrol, but how he’d ended up back at the manor was a blank. Dick had to be the answer. Bruce assumed his oldest had stepped in when the fight went wrong, and had brought him back.

“What happened tonight?”

“Right to the point.” Dick returned to the chair beside the bed. “Alfred gave me the head’s up that you might have gotten in over your head. What he should have told me was that you’d gone suicidal.” He frowned at him.

Bruce frowned back. “I didn’t—”

Dick held up a hand to stop him, giving him a look that said ‘No excuses’. Bruce let his mouth click shut. Dick was upset, it was understandable. This wasn’t the first time one of his sons had bailed him out of a bad issue, and if Bruce were being real with himself it wouldn’t be the last.

He clenched his jaw and prepared for the inevitable telling off that was about to happen, and the yelling that typically followed. Dick was by far the most vocal of his sons. He cared and it came out in his actions, words, and anger.  Bruce could try telling Dick to lay off him, that he was the adult, father figure, example, or whatever but it wouldn’t help.

Dick was his own man. He knew the dangers of the job as well as Bruce did. He, like all of Bruce’s kids, was better at asking for help than Bruce was, and had every right to lecture his adopted father on safety, at least this once.

“You might as well eat if you’re awake, Alfred would hate to have to reheat this again.” Dick told him, bypassing the lecture. Bruce let it slide, he didn’t want to face another argument with his oldest son.

He reached forward and helped Bruce to sit up before handing him the platter. Soup and a sandwich rested underneath the silver cover and Bruce cracked a smile. He wasn’t sick, but Alfred would treat him like he was as long as he couldn’t get out of bed.

Dick let him eat in peace as he took the bin out of Bruce’s room, claiming Alfred’s disapproval if he found the broken shards when emptying the bins later. Bruce wasn’t sure if he expected his oldest to return or not. He wouldn’t blame him if Dick decided to stay away.

They fought too often over stupid things lately. Dick’s lack of attention in the field. Bruce’s refusal to bring in backup. How best to raise Damian. How Dick should spend his life now that he was ‘alive’ again. Bruce sighed at the last one. It was his fault after all. He’d pressured Dick into joining Spiral. Pushed him to leave behind his friends and his family, let them believe him to be dead.

And for what? An in with an international spy organization? Bruce could have that easily. He could have also found a different way to take them down, something better than sending in his oldest son. It had been the plan that made the most sense. It still was. But, Dick was right. He could have done it better. Could have at least let everyone know that he was still alive.

Bruce made mistakes. He made a lot of them. He was trying to make up for them. Which only seemed to cause more fighting. He let his spoon drop into the now empty bowl and set the platter aside. He’d been trying to let Dick have free reign, let him make his own decisions, and look how it had turned out? They weren’t fighting. They hadn’t grown further apart.

But...

His son was hurting from his interaction with Raptor. He could see it in Dick’s eyes, the way they didn’t linger long on him. And in his words, the hesitation and doubt that had preceded his plan to move to Blüdhaven. A plan Bruce approved of in the same way any father could approve of their child moving a city over. Bruce could have prevented the pain and doubt, if he’d been a bit more present. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t done or said a lot of things he should.

He was struck by the sudden desire to say everything he’d kept hidden inside. He should go find Dick. Tell him how proud he was of him. Even if it wasn’t the right time or the right place. The words were never said enough.

Bruce made it to the point where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. His chest felt like it was on fire as he tried to work up the nerve to stand and maybe even manage walking against the shattered bone. He’d done it before, fought with worse injuries. Maybe not to haunt his house in search of a son, but what was more important?

“Bruce.” His name was a sigh of exasperation on Dick’s lips.

He looked up to find his oldest strolling towards him, frustration and amusement mixing on his face. Dick set aside the mug he’d carried in before turning to Bruce. He let Dick force him back into the bed, and only just resisted the sigh of relief at having the pressure in his chest eased against the soft feel of the pillows Dick had pushed against the headboard.

Dick adjusted the blankets, then pressed the mug into Bruce’s hands. Dick then turned to the cleared plate. Bruce belatedly noticed he’d set in a haphazard mess on the table. It all had the feeling of busywork, Bruce thought as he watched. Working to keep words from coming. Words that, while needing to be said, didn’t need to be said with the emotions the speaker was feeling. He’d done the same a hundred times, with little of the success Dick seemed to be having.

When his hands were at a loss for something else to do, Dick laid down in the bed next to Bruce, scooting close to Bruce so their shoulders touched. There was plenty of room on the huge, oversized bed. Bruce used to think of it as lonely, the large mattress a sea and he the only occupant. Then he’d brought children into the manor and on more night’s than he’d ever expected he’d found someone curled up beside him. After that he was glad for the large size, it meant that as large as his family had become, they could all share the space when needed.

“Do you remember?” Dick asked after a moment. “When I refused to ask for help on the Greek Fire Case? You knew about it, but we were trying the ‘trust’ thing but I wanted to do it on my own?”

Bruce did remember. It happened after Dick had been Robin for a while. They’d had some ups and downs and were trying to simply trust each other with information instead of sneaking it past or hiding it from the other. It had been helping smooth things out. Then Riddler made a snide comment about Dick not being good enough, and all Bruce’s hard work crumbled as the boy tried to solve a case on his own.

By that point Dick was a good enough detective in his own right. He’d solved plenty of cases on his own, and had gotten Bruce out of more than one scrape. By all accounts he’d ‘proved’ himself long ago. But words stung, and they’d stung him hard that time, pushing him to try something beyond his limits.

“I think you ended up with a few fractures and a broken rib saving me that time.” Dick continued.

It had been three ribs, but Bruce wasn’t going to correct him on the fact. “That time.” Bruce said using Dick’s own words. “It was my job to save you.”

“Tonight it was mine.” Dick’s voice was quiet.

Bruce wasn’t sure how to respond. It wasn’t like Dick was trying to say he’d wanted to pay Bruce back after all these years. He’d done that time and again. He didn’t know if the words were an apology or a thank you or a reproach. He supposed they were a lesson.

“It shouldn’t have been.” Bruce said before taking a sip from the mug. He’d so far let it rest in his hands, the warmth seeping into him. Now, as the tasted the liquid, he learned it was tea. The sharp undertones told him Alfred had medicated it, if only slightly, to help the ache resting in Bruce’s chest.

Dick turned his head to raise an eyebrow at him. “If you’d asked, I wouldn’t have needed to.”

They were getting away from what he wanted to say. What he needed to say. _Thank you. Good job. I’m proud._ The words, like most, stuck in his throat. Bruce wasn’t a man of words. He was one of action.

Dick had always been the one to use them best. Jason attacked with them. Tim used them to get what he wanted. Cass chose them wisely. Steph hid behind them. And Damian, Damian did a little of everything.

“I meant.” Bruce amended. “That you shouldn’t have felt the need to save me. No matter how old you get it’s my job to take care of you. I was wrong to go in there alone, like you were wrong to on the Greek Fire case.”

Dick hummed and turned slightly, to look Bruce over, he tucked his hands under his head, against the headboard and grinned. “I’m glad you figured that out, at least.”

Ignoring the sudden frown from Dick, Bruce adjusted his own position to face his son. He was fine, the tea was already starting to work as he’d sipped on it. “That at least, eh?” Bruce grinned, “I guess I’ve done a bad job of proving I’ve learned to ask for help.”

“I’d say so, if I believed you.” Dick’s smile was back.

Bruce would have argued that he did know how to ask for help, but it would be shot down as soon as he’d said the words. They both knew he might know how to, but that didn’t stop him from ignoring the advice he gave to each of his kids on a regular basis.

“You know.” Dick started, then paused as if he were waiting for permission.

Bruce gave a slight nod and Dick continued. “I tried to teach Damian to ask for help while I was Batman. You’d think telling him it after I’d pulled him out of a death trap would have cemented the issue.” Dick said and Bruce rolled his eyes. He had a feeling he knew where the story was going.

“He sneered and told me to lead by example before strolling away.” Dick chuckled. “So I did. I wasn’t going to let the kid get the last word. Unfortunately he’s like his dad; a bit of a slow learner.”

Bruce hid his smile in another sip from the quickly draining mug. “It’s a good thing we have you around.” He paused then added. “Though I wouldn’t let Damian hear you call him a slow learner.”

“That.” Dick said. “Stays between us. He’d never let me live it down. Ever. You hear me Bruce?”

Bruce gave him his best, trouble filled grin, and said. “We’ll see.”


End file.
